


Shining

by saltedearthsch



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, just some fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 19:16:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21307226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltedearthsch/pseuds/saltedearthsch
Summary: aymeric's first impressions of the warrior of light are not what he expects.
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light
Kudos: 19
Collections: Final Fantasy XIV - Aymeric de Borel x WoL Recommendations





	Shining

**Author's Note:**

> i just wanted to write how i imagine the first meeting between them went. no, i did not go back and actually watch the cut-scenes around this, please forgive me.

The air of Coerthas is sharp and biting on the day Lord Alphinaud has requested their meeting take place. Such weather is to be expected in the rolling hills and mountains of snow, however, and the Lord Commander arrives at Camp Dragonhead prepared for such conditions. Fur-lined garments beneath the ornate azure and gold armor keep most of the chill from him as the soft crunch of horseshoes on snow halts before the gates.

“Hail, Lord Commander!” A guard calls, muffled behind his helmet. Aymeric de Borel offers him only a nod, haste singing through his veins and rendering him capable of thoughts only regarding the upcoming proceedings. He and his retinue are waved through, and he wastes no time urging his steed straight to the doors of the intercessory where Haurchefant awaits.

“Well met, Commander!” The knight of the fort is grinning widely, offering his hand to the templar. Aymeric grasps it, clapping Haurchefant on the back as he returns his smile. Despite being the illegitimate son of a high house and veritably banished to the snowy wastelands of the Highlands, Haurchefant Greystone had ever been vigilant and dedicated to the causes of Ishgard. Though the Holy See would have him feel otherwise, Aymeric had preferred to judge the man on his merit and accomplishments. The fort commander was a man of many, and thusly well deserving of his respect.

“You needn’t be so formal with me, Haurchefant,” Aymeric assured as they moved out of the cold and into the fire-touched interior of the intercessory. The draft kicked in by the closing door dissipates almost instantly with the blaze in the corner fireplace. Grateful for its warmth, Aymeric settles into the high-backed chair behind the intercessory’s long table. 

“I could never so much as form the notion of disrespecting you, Sir Aymeric.” The words are formal, but said with Haurchefant’s typical nonchalance and charming smile. Situating himself in a comfortable lean against the table, the epitome of effortless and casual, he nodded towards the door. “They should be arriving soon.”

As if on cue, voices rose to a fervor outside, and Haurchefant took the moment to excuse himself in favor of greeting his guests. Aymeric could just make out the sounds of the boisterous Elezen’s welcome mingling with a few quiet ones. If his hearing were just a bit better, he would be more certain that one were male and the other female.

Little had been told to him of the supposed Warrior of Light that was not already spread about by rumors. The gossip mill would have him believe she was a simple woman from Ul’Dah, chosen by the Crystal Mother to vanquish the primals that had been appearing throughout the land. Serving her purpose under the flag of Gridania, she had slain several before making her way into Coerthas. 

In trying times it was not uncommon for simpler folk to cling to stories of legends reborn such as this. Aymeric did not fault them their faith or belief, but did keep his own healthy skepticism about him. After all, how could one woman have accomplished so much in a span of months that had plagued four nations for years? 

Haurchefant had told him to set aside his expectations, and so he did intend to do. He would conduct this meeting from a purely neutral standpoint and seek to reach a compromise that would satisfy both parties. So skilled had the Lord Commander become over the years at separating thought from feeling that it was hardly even a whim, but second nature. Thus, when he heard footsteps approach the door, he held only curiosity.

When she steps through the door, the Warrior of Light is practically glowing.

Of course he takes notice of the shorter Elezen standing beside Haurchefant, his garb entirely unsuited to the harsh Halonic climates, stringing together a series of pleasant introductions. The boy in question is Alphinaud Leveilleur, Envoy of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, as Aymeric had guessed. His own greeting is simple and equally polite, but insubstantial, as his attention is held by the Viera towering next to the young lord.

It is impossible to ignore the graceful ease with which she carries herself, unbothered by the massive blade strapped to her back. She is the picture of intimidation in her golden armor that shines in the firelight, and height second only to himself and Haurchefant. A slim silver circlet peeks from beneath her sandy hair, resting just above brows raised just slightly in indication of her curious interest in the room they find themselves in. As he makes note of this, his eyes slide to her own, almost as golden yellow as her armor, and with a start realizes their gazes have locked. There is no malice in the exchange, no judgement or hostility - only the patient curiosity and interest of a traveler who has come across another new find.

“And this,” he manages to catch Alphinaud saying, hurriedly tossing his attention back to the younger man, “is my colleague and fellow Scion, Ary’al Sabrae. You may also know her as the Warrior of Light.” The last title is handed over with more than a little pride, and he catches sight of a light blush dusting the woman’s cheeks in the dim light. This too has the appearance of softening her features, making her appear more like a demure noble lady than a soldier. It makes him wonder where she truly came from, who she was, before she was lofted so high onto her pedestal.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Commander.” At last she speaks, the words a tad rushed, as if to make sure Alphinaud cannot say them for her. With a soft smile of petal pink lips, she offers her gauntlet ensconced hand and shakes his own. Her grip, unlike her visage, speaks volumes to the strength and swordplay talent that lie within her. Ever courteous, he bows slightly and presses a kiss to her hand.

“The pleasure is mine, Lady Sabrae.” Her eyes slide away from his, clearly embarrassed and he fights back a smile. For such a fierce warrior, she sure does balk easily at a compliment. It’s a trait he would find rather endearing in less professional capacities. Or perhaps he still does.

“You must not needs stand on ceremony with me, Ser Aymeric,” she manages, a gentle correction in her voice. “Though I appreciate the consideration, I am no Lady of any house. Simply a soldier and a Scion sent to speak with you on behalf of a people in need.” He releases her hand and steps back, nodding acknowledgement. Haurchefant mutters something about ridiculous flirting and he shoots the knight a sharp glare, receiving only a shrug in return. Fighting back the urge to roll his eyes, Aymeric strides back around the table to stand across from the trio, rolling his shoulders back to regard them more seriously.

“As you wish, Ary’al.” Her smile this time is pleased. Next to her, Alphinaud has begun to fidget - it seems it is time to move things along. “With pleasantries out of the way, shall we move on? I believe we are both eager to get this business underway.”


End file.
